Spare the Rod
by in a rabbit's shadow
Summary: Father Brown/Lady Felicia Romance.
1. Chapter 1

I own nothing. Father Brown and all associated with such belongs to BBC and G.K. Chesterton.

Inspired by Season 4 Episode 6: The Rod of Asclepius

Spare the Rod

She hadn't meant to do it. Any of it. Her anger had soared to such heights that when it finally torpedoed towards the depths of her soul it had had no choice but to collide with the vast ocean of sorrow awaiting at the bottom. Indeed a driving hazard for one who sat behind the wheel of a killing machine. Truth be told, the rage she felt only sought to fuel her need to throw caution to the wind; to damn the suffocating cage of obedience. If she died, then so be it, but hell, pushing the pedal to the metal was so freeing. She had reveled in the warmth of reckless behavior, but at a cost; you see, her friend was now lying in a hospital bed not far from her own bruised and sore body.

 _Everything was just peachy until someone got hurt_ , she thought bitterly.

Mrs. McCarthy had unfortunately been taking a stroll down the very same road that she herself had designated as a new racing track. Almost hitting the church secretary was not enough; no, she just had to offer her a ride into town. She remembered the look of shock on the elderly woman's face after the close call, but whether out of fatigue or mistaken trust, she still agreed to the lift.

That's when things really started to go south.

Stir in a few uncontrolled emotions with a captive audience, while throwing in a death wish for good measure, and what do you get...yours truly decorated with an arm cast along with a comatose Mrs. McCarthy.

The bed next to her radiated with an eerie calm; its occupant kept silent. Truth be told, she'd give anything to have her sparring partner back in action. The battles they'd fought over the years had only served to strengthen the ties between them in some twisted way. It wasn't as if they had anything in common as she was currently married and McCarthy was widowed, but what stood out the most was the age difference, and yet they had managed to reach above the water line only to find dry ground together.

 _And THIS is how you repay her..._

The tears fell bitterly, but she knew that remorse could not summon consciousness back to the sleeping form that rested just inches away from her own.

 _What if she never wakes?_

That question alone caused waves of convulsions to beleaguer her body, expending energy that she could not afford to lose. _I can't breathe_ , was the last thing that she remembered in a coherant state as shivers began to rack her spine. Fighting for air, her hand flew to her chest as the tears fell faster from her eyes. That's when she realized that she couldn't move. Every muscle seemed to stiffen and yet her body was still actively trying to crunch itself into a fetal position on the bed. Sensing darkness overtaking her consciousness, she allowed her small frame to collapse into a heap of shaking sobs; the war had been lost.

 _Nothing can save me now_ , she whispered voicelessly, fingers forced to her mouth to stave off the cry of desolation that welled deep within her soul.

Morning bird serenades danced effortlessly through her ears, begging last nights memory of horror to slip away quietly.

 _I feel so horrible_.

She breathed heavily into the pillow as she tried without much success to gather her legs up towards her chest. Her entire body rejected every order that required movement, opting instead to stay in its current position.

 _How lovely is this? And..am I drooling..._ , but before she could get any farther down her path of amusings, her nose picked up the faintest trace of a familiar aftershave.

 _Oh, no. No. NO. NO. NO!_

"I came to see how you two were faring today." She heard the crick of the chair as he lowered himself onto the seat.

Suddenly alert, adrenaline rushing through her veins, an attempt was made to sit up so that she could properly face him; shame and all, however, her injured arm was choosing not to partake in that type of fun.

"Here, let me help you with that", he mumbled as he placed the pillow gently upright at the headboard so that she could rest her back against it. That's when she felt it; the graceful graze of a hand on uncovered flesh. He hadn't meant to do it, that she was sure of, but the small favor of contact led her thoughts down a road that she would rather not travel right now; least of all in front of him. Withdrawing his hand swiftly, the moment faded as she more heard than saw him retreat hastily back to his seat at the foot of the bed.

A poor "Thank you", was all that she could muster as she settled down delicately onto the mattress, pulling the the covers up as she went. Stealing a glance, she found him staring coldly; hands clapsed together tightly. Judging by the look on his face, he was not going to make this easy for her and better still, why should he? She deserved all the burning hatred and unbearable disappointment that was about to be unleashed upon her. Right?

Gathering as much courage as possible, she started off with "Um, I'm really glad you came today", but no response was awarded to her. Again, "I am doing better. The doctor thinks that I should be out in about a week...", still nothing. The final blow came in the form of "Unfortunately, Mrs. McCarthy is still uncon.."

"You could have killed her", he whispered.

Effectively stopping her from finishing her sentence, she found herself becoming tense with anxiety. While, desperately trying to find the right words of pacification, another more pronounced ,"You could have killed her", hit her in the face.

Her fingers clutched at the bedsheets.

"I'm so sorry..I'm..so..sorry...I know I shouldn't have. If I had it do all over again, I would never have gotten into that car."

He rose to his feet. She watched as he stalked over towards her bedside.

"You could have killed her."

"I know. I know. I'm sorry."

Leaning down, he brought his face within mere inches of hers.

Another whispher from his lips, "You could have killed her."

Registering his breath on the side of her face, dread pooled within her stomach.

"I'm sorr.."

Losing all control, he grasped the bed rail until his knuckles turned white.

"YOU COULD HAVE KILLED HER!"

"I know!", she heard herself screaming; the stress of the situation beginning to feed the cracks in the emotional dam.

"Then why!"

 _Why?_ If only he knew how many times she had asked herself that same question and failed to give a sound answer, however this outburst only served to ignite her pent up rage-at her life, at him, at everything and before she could keep the fire from spreading, the words were set loose from her mouth.

"What do you want me to say! You want me contrite, well here I am! I have sat here day after day praying and hoping that somehow in the morning this will all just have been a nightmare, but with each sunrise I am reminded that this isn't just some made up nonsense; no, this is reality! My reality! This is Bridget's reality!", he took her breathy pause that followed as cue to interject, but she was too fast for him. "No," her voice dangerously low,"You get to listen", she commanded. "I have and always will regret what I have done for the rest of my life. Don't think for one second that I won't. As I have stated before, if I could do it all over again, I never would have gotten into that car and she," pointing strongly with her good hand at Mrs. McCarthy, "wouldn't be here. I take full responsiblity for that!"

 _Thwack_!

The railing vibrated as his hands made contact with the cool metal. Standing to his full height, she found herself shaking as he began lowering himself again towards the side of her face; just close enough to be unnerving, yet still far enough away to not be in range of touching the shell of her ear with his lips. She had never seen him so angry, even when...

"Your actions have consequences. So the next time, think before you decide to get behind the wheel of a potential killing machine or you just might finally get in over your head", and without another word he took his leave, but not before turning and giving a quick squeeze to the hand of his dear friend in the neighboring bed.

Hearing the door slam, she sat stiffly under the sheets; head reeling. Per usual as of late, he left her within the cruel hands of silence. Unmerciful at its best, she found herself wading in the waters of condemation because if he truly wanted to, he could sentence her to a life of solitude; _one without_ _him_. An easy feat for someone, if said relationship going to be affected is already crumbling at its foundation.

Thinking back- _Your actions have consequences..._

This wasn't the first time that she had been blessed with those words of wisdom from him and it definitely wouldn't be the last. Undoubtedly so, she was remorseful, but she couldn't help to think; had the situation turned out different and the roles were reversed with Mrs. McCarthy playing the irresponsible driver and her the innocent victim, would he have reacted the same? Would Mrs McCarthy get the blitz of her life or would she be showered with forgiveness and love? Would he have extended the hand of grace to her instead of the tongue of flames? Would he have spared her the rod?

End.


	2. Harbinger Part One

I do not own Father Brown Mysteries for it belongs to BBC and G.K. Chesterton.

Revisiting "The Face of Death"episode.

Harbinger: Part One

 _One year prior..._

The day had started off without a hitch; everyone on their best behavior, barring a few exceptions, but that was to be expected when alcohol was involved. Most could handle a drink or two, but there were some that suffered in the tolerance department, and as a result sporadic sightings of scrimmages could be witnessed on the grounds. Luckily, Lady Felicia and Mrs. McCarthy could count themselves among the blessed-not much room to cause a scene when your team captain is a priest. Though Sid was probably the most brazen out of the group, even he saw fit to abstain from losing his mind in the presence of the Father, which resulted in him having zero drinks...well, that and the fact that Lady Felicia had confiscated his first beverage with the reasoning that her driver needed to stay sober at all times. Go figure.

At half past noon, all groups had been set free to roam the gardens in hopes of finding the cleverly hidden peacock feathers; feathers that would one by one unlock the secrect location of Lady Magaret and her sweet reward. Father Brown, however, forewent the necessary pointers and instead opted to use the family dog as a means to win the whole thing. Honestly, no one blamed him in the end and after having a quick word with Lady Margaret, all scooped up what they could carry of the delicious bounty that had been left for them before making their way back towards the house. All in all, it had been a fulfilling day, but some players had been basking in the everglow of jovial contentment for far too long-and by some, we mean a particular set of two.

(At the house)

"These fancy little chocolates are...," gulp, "not as fancy as the picture on the box makes them out to be. Hardly fit to grace my table," grumbled one Mrs. Bridgette McCarthy, whilst successfully popping another handful into her mouth.

"Is that why you keep shoving them into that orafice in your face then? Because they are so atrocious to look at in real life?" came a reply from across the room, which only served to cease the chewing of the woman in question.

Rewarding her companion with a glare, Bridgette continued on with her review, "For your information my dear, I am not equating taste with presentation."

"Of course not," Felicia stated, "It's just how could you eat such things that are so vile to the eye!" throwing her hands up in mock disgust.

"Always with the dramatics I see," Mrs. McCarthy drawled out in between bites.

"Well, you would know..."

"I beg your pardon?!" McCarthy asked sharply, while leaning forward slightly, "Stop mumbling over there. It's not lady-like!"

"I didn't!"

"Yes, you did!"

"I did not!"

"Ladies?"

Both parties immediately did a cease and desist long enough to acknowledge a bewildered Lady Margaret standing within the drawing room entry way; her face slowly contorting into a questioning gaze.

Mortified at the situation, Mrs. McCarthy decided to break the ice first. "My apologies Lady Margaret, I hope we didn't disturb you with our lively conversation," eyeing Felicia rather quickly, "How can we be of assistance to you?"

"Well, I...," she responded warily, "I just thought...," she shifted uncomfortably, swaying indecisively before throwing out, "Oh never mind." She began to make a hasty exit, but suddenly turned on her heels, eyes brighter than before, "I took the liberty and spoke with Father Brown earlier this afternoon about dining with us tonight. An extension of the invitation can be applied to the two of you as well, should you so desire."

Finding her request to have a stunning effect on her two guests, Lady Margaret allowed a smile to grace her painted lips. "I am assuming that your vocal abilities will return shortly, but in the meantime can I count you two in for tonight's celebration? A simple nod will suffice."

Mentally slapping herself back into reality, Felicia motioned to Bridgette enthusiastically, "Oh, of course. We'd love to attend!"

"Ah, wonderful," Lady Magaret clapped her hands together with finality, "It's all set then. Dinner starts at eight o'clock sharp."

Both watched as their hostess exited the room; the excitement of this sudden developement too much to bear.

"I can't believe we actually made the list...I mean, she never invites , but ten people to her celebratory dinners...and the fact that we'er commoners.."

"Whoa, what a minute!" Felicia halted her friend's exaltations. "One, I am always invited to fancy dinners. And two, I am not a commoner. And three..."

"Oh shut it! Just because you put on your fancy dresses, twist your hair up tighter than most, and strut around in high heels that would make a giraffe jealous..." McCarthy yelled, arms crossed.

"What do you know about heels anyway?!", Felicia spat back, "You're practically ancie..!"

"Don't you dare say it!"

Finding Bridgette's finger pointed directly in her face served as more than fair warning that the situation was about to take an ugly turn if she didn't close her mouth.

"Fine. I'm done," Felicia surrendered with her hands up in the air.

Allowing an infamous eye roll, Mrs. McCarthy sighed.

"You love it," Felicia winked, "The fight keeps you young."

Realizing her slip of the tongue, Felicia's eyes widened as a red Mrs McCarthy stalked towards her, "Are you trying to start something again because if you are, I've got all night!"

(Dinner)

"I would like to propose a toast to the success of today as we have been able to celebrate a wonderful occasion here together..."

Both Felicia and Mrs. McCarthy raised their glasses and were about to partake of said wine in their hands when Felicia received a kick from underneath the table.

"She's not done yet!" he whispered feverently. Mrs. McCarthy spit the few ounces of drink back into the goblet, much to the horrified face of Felicia Montague.

"...And to the fine company in which we have found ourselves surrounded..."

"Oh my..did you..did you just spit that back into your cup?!" whispered Felicia.

"What did you expect me to do..." came the hushed reply from McCarthy.

Sighing heavily, she covered her face in her hands, while continuously listening to the drawling sounds of Lady Margaret.

"And finally to..."

"Oh, thank you Lord," mumbled the socialite.

Eyes narrowing slightly, Father Brown proceeded to scold the socialite across from him, "That was rude."

Sitting up suddenly, she faced him head on, "No it wasn't. You know how carried away she can get. Especially when she's had a little too much to drink," she finished just in time to clink glasses with the neighboring seats.

"Well, you two can squabble all night if you like, but I'm going to enjoy some delicious food," McCarthy stated, while gulping down the last of her wine. Felicia could only stare in silence.

"You finished that rather quickly," Felicia observed. McCarthy rewarded her with a squinty side-eye. Taking it a step further, she added, "You're stealing my job; I'm supposed to be the tipsy one around here."

"Oh, come off it!", Bridgette spat at the red head next to her, "And besides, you say it like it's something to be proud of."

"Can you two pretend to get along, at least for tonight?" Father Brown pleaded from his chair.

Greatly irritated, Felicia smiled innocently. "THIS," gesturing between herself and Mrs. McCarthy, "is us getting along."

He felt his face twist into a mask of aggitation. It wasn't the statement itself that had him up in arms; it was how she said it. This wasn't the first time that she had bitten back at him over something that he had either said or did recently and it only seemed to be getting worse. Today, she had been extra cruel, especially after an earlier conversation:

 _"Maybe we should actually look for those feathers instead of lounging around with drinks in our hands. Don't you think Father?" Mrs. McCarthy made it a point to throw a meaningful glance towards her younger friend, which earned her an infamous eye roll._

 _"Just wait a moment," he replied mildly before adding , "Patience is still a virtue my dear."_

 _"Indeed it is," came a wistful reply from over by the stone steps._

 _Looking up sharply, he caught sight of her dark brown eyes searching his form. It had been twenty years since their first encounter and though she had aged, her eyes still held within them the very same spark that he had had the privilege of witnessing so long ago._

 _"Yes," was all he could say to her._

That simple one-word reply was all it took before he found himself waging war against piericing stares and curt replies. She had managed to turn this day into one on of the worst he had ever experienced in his life.

Watching him from across the table, she knew that she'd lost him to the land of memories-a habit as of late.

"Penny for your thoughts..."

Stunned, he remembered that those were the very first words that she had ever spoken to him, though now she presented them as mere shadows of their former selves; hollow and bitter.

"Ah, no," he answered dryly, attempting to distract himself with the food on his plate.

The remainder of dinner was spent tending to the ever-growing rift that that had now apparently wedged itself between the priest and his younger companion. Felicia kept to herself, only allowing conversation with Mrs. McCarthy to keep her occupied. On the other hand, Father Brown took it upon himself to engage instead with Lady Margaret's lovely daughter, Lucia. Though her time on this Earth so far measured to no more than a minor 20 years, she was still able to navigate her way through discussions with a certain grace. He had his suspicions though; like if they had not been in the company of others, she would have dropped her innocence like a burning hot coal in favor of a more outspoken demeanor. Here, seated to his right, she was found to portray the exact opposite, most likely to appease the family; such are the life and trials of a burgeoning young woman, he thought.

"...Well, that's all I truly do now. Just fashion school and housework, though my father would rather I learn just about the housework," Lucia finished.

Yawning slightly, Father Brown cupped his mouth, "My apologies, it's not the company, but rather the time. I am usually in bed by now."

Lucia snickered, "Why, it's only half-past nine. Will you not allow me to show you my latest creations? Oh, and before you say no, it has been two weeks since my last confession," he was met with big expressive brown eyes, "Please?"

Feeling defeated, he agreed. "Oh, alright. What harm can it do," he smiled warmly before excusing himself all too eagerly to go follow her.

This left Mrs. McCarthy to choke on her dessert, which in turn caused her to down a third glass of wine. The coughing fit that ensued earned her some rather curious glances from the rest of the guests. Felicia, on the other hand, had stopped mid-drink; her face frozen into a scowl.

"Tell me, he's joking?" the older woman asked after recovering.

"Nope. I'm afraid he's not."

To be continued...

To CQ: I completely changed my mind on where I was going with this, but it will all work out in the end. :)


	3. Harbinger Part Two

I own nothing of Father Brown, but BBC and G.K. Chesterton do.

Harbinger: Part Two

To say that Lucia's bedroom resembled that of a warzone instead of an intended place of rest was an understatement. Forcing his eyes to focus on just one item in the room was proving to be rather difficult at best , taking into consideration the state in which he had just found it. It was truly overwhelming. "Oh my..." he whispered.

Forcing her way out from behind him, Lucia flew towards the center; her eyes wide with wonder as she pointed out one completed work after another. He thought to himself as he watched her travel from corner to corner that he was indeed in the presence of a highly skillful designer, but all that talent seemed to be hidden underneath heaps of fabric that had been unceremoniously scattered throughout the room.

Tracing the seam on a velvet sleeve, she turned slightly, "This one I started nearly two years ago. Not yet finished as you can see, but soon..". Staring at the garmet hanging on the lifeless form, he kept watch, waiting for her continue.

(Dining Room)

Plopping her spoon down onto the saucer, Felicia allowed her eyes to follow the swirling motion of the milk as it dissolved within the confines of her tea cup. The aroma was nothing short of intoxicating. Leaves from the far reaches of Africa or was it South America someone had said that gave this beverage its special flavor and smell; not that she could recall correctly as she had been too bored out her mind to remember. All she knew was that the party had died down significantly after tea was served. Most drank it without abandon, but she just couldn't stomach one more bite tonight whether it be food or drink. Something just didn't sit right and the worst part of it all was that this feeling of dread washed over her as soon as Father Brown had left the table. She checked her watch-only ten minutes had lapsed since his departure.

"Where are you?" she murmured to herself. It was going to be a long night.

(Lucia's Room)

Suspended in animation, Lucia remained quiet as Father Brown kept himself sealed within the doorway. "Lucia?" Oblivious, the young woman remained standing next to the mannequin; smooth material gliding between her fingertips.

"You know," she said absently, "it's so fitting that such a luxurious fabric should be associated with royalty." Her body stalked around the form, a predatory gaze pinning the garment. "And it's purple!". He could only stare. "You know Father, fit for a king," she gestured towards the dress, her tone one of utter disbelief at the thought of him not knowing that simple fact.

Finding his voice again, "I know. Jesus wore it along with a crown of thorns during His trial with Pontius Pilate." Sneering slightly, she turned to face the only window within the room.

(Dining Room)

The tea sat untouched; cold and completely unfit for drinking by this point, but none of that mattered as Felicia turned to look suspiciously at her friend whom by now had started to exhibit signs of extreme drowsiness. Unnerved by this new development, she set about scanning the room, only to find the other invitees to be in the same condition. She had to get help.

Gathering her things from the table, she took one last look. No sign of the mistress of the house and she hadn't laid eyes upon the detective inspector since dinner. They were truly sitting ducks in this case-alone and unprotected.

Turning her attention to her friend, she shoved Bridgette's arm in an attempt to awaken her, but all she received in return was a sigh of exhaustion. "Mrs. McCarthy?", she pushed harder, "Mrs. McCarthy?". Finally, "Bridgette!"- the woman being pursued by the panick-stricken voice came to briefly before closing her eyes once more.

"This is not happening," she stated firmly. If she said it out loud enough times, maybe she'd believe it. Highly unlikely, she thought.

(Lucia's Bedroom)

"Are you going to stand there are all night or are you going to come in her and join me?", came the sweet siren's song. Honestly, he didn't know. Every sensation within him was being set ablaze with the warning torches, however against his better judgement, Father Brown took a step forward into the serpent's lair. She still had a confession to make didn't she? That was really all that mattered right now, that was why he was here in the first place and he was not going to turn away a plea for forgiveness-no matter the cost.

Her form kept its position facing the window, though he saw her move slightly to the right as he came up beside her. "You said you have a confession to make." He heard a small laugh depart from her lips. "Of course I do, but not right now."

Suddenly bridging the distance between them, she dug her nails into his arm, effectively anchoring him to her side. Wincing, he found pain to be the result if he gravitated toward any direction other than that of his captor. Not wanting to throw her to the ground, he remained motionless. Again, he waited.

"Now I'm ready Father..."

(Dining Room)

It was official-her nightmares had finally come to life. The problem?-After having been witness to two full grown men passing out and falling to the ground, she was all too sure that they were dead as neither had moved a muscle in a span of ten minutes. That's when the screaming started; honestly, unavoidable.

"What is happening?!" or "Am I insane!" was every other exclaimation from Felicia's mouth. McCarthy was of no help. Every minute saw her body slide out further from her chair and sink closer to the floor. The only thing stopping her from completely falling outward was Felicia's arm; a barricade of sorts to keep her friend from collapsing into a heap.

"Please! Someone help! Please!", but her pleas for aid were met with silence. Twisting in her sitting position, the realization hit her-she was the only one still conscious.

(Lucia's Bedroom)

"Go on," he spit through gritted teeth. Laughter once again permeated the air around them, "You are so impatient _my_ priest. I have so much to say and so little time to do it."

"What are you talking about?", his arm was beginning to go numb, "And I'm not _your_ priest."

Taking to offence to his declaration, her grip tightened causing him to yelp in pain. "I would be careful when releasing your words to me. Some are most unwise." Falling prey to searing pain, he fell down to his knees. Recognizing the feel of blood flowing on bare skin, he was fully aware that his wound was beginning to tear at the seams.

 _Help! Please somebody help us!_

Recognizing the terror-filled scream, his heart skipped a beat-"Felicia?".

Pulling at his flesh, Lucia managed to dig deeper, causing another wave of agony to pulsate through him. "She's of no use to you now," he heard her mumble the words, while eyeing the doorway. Bending down towards his ear, "She can't save you!" Instinctually jerking away from her, he tried to call out in pure hope that she would hear him, but his voice was too hoarse-too dry to dredge up the necessary volume to warn her. All he felt was a piercing throb.

"Please Felicia. Please God," he prayed.

"You keep that up and I'll make sure you get a front row seat," Lucia spat, "Get up!". Seeing him struggle only intensified her anger, "I said get up!". Somehow clawing deeper into his skin, she pulled up on his injured arm, while slicing his face with her other hand. The pain was blinding, but he had no choice-follow or be destroyed. Or, fight.

His other arm had been allowed to remain free and unharmed...up to this point, but there was no telling how long that would last. Finding himself once again bonded to her side, he took a chance, the means to distract her within his reach. "You said I would get a front row seat," making eye contact with Lucia, he continued "What did you mean by that?".

Swaying over to his front, she placed her free hand upon his cheek; searching his eyes, a smile curled around her mouth, turning his blood cold. "Her death," she hissed.

To be continued...


	4. Her

I own nothing of Father Brown, but BBC and G.K. Chesterton do.

Thank you Christian Queen of Egypt for your continued support and encouragment.

Her

Present Day..

 _Mrs. Montague...Mrs. Montague..._

This had been her customary wake-up call ever since _he_ had been to visit. It consisted of the same poor young nurse calling out of her name followed by the obligatory push on the softness of the shoulder and then the finale of the sheets being flung from her body, allowing the coolness of the air to swallow up the warmth underneath. It was the doctor's order that she be up and on her feet for at least an hour during the day for the next week-the end result being her discharge to the empty house she called "home".

"Please stop," she looked warily at Marianne whilst holding up a hand mere inches from her caregiver's face, "I'm up." She couldn't promise any movement towards the edge of the bed or motivation to get steady upon her feet today, but she could be alert-as alert as her depression would allow.

The brown-haired woman sighed heavily, clearly unmoved by the classic display of resistance. "You really need to keep yourself from getting atrophied. It isn't good. Besides, don't you want to get out of here and get on home to your cozy bed and warm surroundings?" Felicia knew that Marianne didn't mean anything by her ignorance concerning the situation surrounding Count Montague and the "warmth" that she naively thought awaited her return, but that understanding did nothing to quelch the strong desire to slap that grin from her cheerful face.

"Of course," she smiled back sweetly, "Thank you for your concern. It is most appreciated." _I am dying on the inside_.

Taking that as consent to continue, the young woman made her way around to the railing, released it, and held out her two hands to aide Felicia in the process of standing.

"I can do it." The nurse did not retreat, hands still awaited the pair across from her. "Please, you know how I can't stand to be treated as an invalid." Felicia hoped that her face conveyed the need for space. She watched as the extended hands slowly followed a path back down to the girl's side, a look of reluctance evident. "Alright Mrs. Montague, but you have to make an effort this time to get some strength back in your legs or I will be forced to drag you around this place myself; with my two bare hands." _Of course you will, and you'll also make sure to squeeze every last bit of enjoyment out of it too._

Nodding in agreement Felicia allowed both feet to hit the floor, something she had not done with great devotion since the accident, and continued on her way towards the courtyard area just a few feet beyond her new room.

(The Courtyard)

There they sat...in silence. After a few rounds of visiting the fragrant roses that decorated the hospital's inner sanctum, they had decided to settle down upon the bench beneath an oak tree. Everywhere one looked, walls of ivy could be seen climbing haphazardly along the bricks; a fountain sporting a violin-playing cherub stood firmly within the center of the pond, trickling water peacefully onto the calm surface below.

Sensing an incoming break from the quiet by her seated companion, Felicia took the opportunity to seize the conversation first by the horns before it got out of control.

"You know, I have always enjoyed the solitude that places like these offer." Marianne raised an eyebrow. "I just think that aside from the horrible reasons for which we are here in the first place, this little area allows one to think and heal without the interfence of outside influences." _Though, sometimes it's so quiet that I can hear my own damaging thoughts. And that, I despise._

"Of course," came the wary reply. "So, tell me Mrs. Montague, what has brought you here?" Felicia's head whipped around to face the young woman, eyes wide and body taut. Had she gone mad? She very well knew what had brought her to the confines of this temporary prison and the obvious answer was not what she was searching for in the Countess' brain. She wanted the truth behind the lie, the disease behind the symptom, but this girl of no more than twenty could not possibly be that astute.

Feigning ignorance, she answered "What..what do you mean? You know why I'm here. I was injured in a car accident..and..I-I mean, my friend and I were hurt badly." Her hands had glued themselves together so tightly that her fingers were starting to go numb.

"Oh, that's, yeah, I know that, but I was just wondering is all since most people are very careful to not have an accident when there is a passanger involved. You were going pretty fast. I overheard the ambulance drivers talking about how messed the car was when they got there. You went head-first into tree. Now I'll tell ya, that's either the result of alcohol, stress, or both. So which one is it?" _Is it too late to throw her in the pond and make an escape? Two-timing, troublemaking busybody!_

"I don't have to explain myself to you or anyone else!" Seeing through the emotional wall, the nurse continued, "No. You don't. But if you think ignoring the problem is going to help, then you're wrong. I can tell you that these things escalate and it won't be too long before we will be seeing you again-and maybe not with just a broken arm this time."

For the second time that day, Felicia sat in utter silence. A complete stranger wanted to know about her ailments and not just the physical. When was the last time that anyone had suggested an interest in helping her heal that which ate away at her soul? She thought about this very thing as her mind ached to be given the chance to scrutinize this woman before her, to find fault within her confidant and thus absolve her from any responsibility to become transparent.

Stealing another look, she knew; she would have to talk. Letting out a shaky sigh, she began to speak through cupped hands. "Alright..I-I..I can't.." Tears began to prick her eyes as a hand came to rest upon her shoulder. "It's okay. You can trust me." _Trust. I do not deserve the gift of being able to trust you with my sins. Afterall, no one can trust me-not even him._

"Try again," the hand that was resting on Felicia's shoulder now found its way to her own, holding it steady. Nodding, the broken Countess released a calming breath and began to recite her past life.

(Montague Mansion)

After having been advised that his wife was in a state of disrepair, Count Montague did not stall his plans and travel back immediately to Kembleford. Instead, he allowed himself the luxury of nesting even longer in Northern Rhodesia. What did she need him for when she was in the care of people expertly trained to heal that which was broken?

It wasn't as if they were extremely close, in fact, they had been man and wife in name only for quite a number of years. He liked her-yes, but he did not love her as one who is devoted soley to his bride should.

Their bond had been broken slowly, eroded by challenges over time-some avoidable and others inevitable. It would be here in his study that one such inevitable, if not avoidable situation, sat undiscovered-silent amongst the mundaneness of everyday life.

While fiddling with the most recent pile of mail from that morning, Monty was already starting to feel the irritation of his wife's absence. "Looks like she was shirking her duties long before the accident," he surmised. Stacks of unopened communication lay scattered about, not one in its designated place that he had assigned for it. _It's a good thing she's pretty or else she'd be out on the street. Can't follow directions if her life depended on it._

Grumbling, he set about depositing one envelope after another into the correct slit within the divider that sat empty upon the desk. White paper assualted his eyes, _one, two, three bills..two for me..two for Felicia, one..._ , he stopped counting when he noticed the return address and handwriting on one particular envelope didn't appear recongnizable to him.

"What is this?" Scratching his head, he took a seat nearest the fire place and debated. He was accustomed to the regulars, but never before had he laid his eyes upon scribbled ink from RestHaven Sanitarium. Against his better judgement, he turned the packaged note over, opened the flap and paused.

"Come on Monty, it's probably nothing. Just some sort of mistake. She's always out with that priest, so no telling what trouble he's gotten her into-always hanging around those undesirables." Was it the truth? Every word he said out loud seemed unfufilled, empty.

His face flushed with anticipation as shaky hands fished the note from its casing. What he saw written beneath his trembling fingertips sent a shockwave of anger coursing through his veins. A distant memory he had longed to keep buried had suddenly risen to the surface.

(The Presbytery)

Father Brown remained seated at his desk in the presbytery; a pensive look gathering around his features as he took to reading the letter from RestHaven Sanitarium that was situated neatly in front of him. Placing his glasses upon his nose, he began to take in the words written below.

 _I hope you are well...I miss you...The doctor says that I am doing better...I might be able to come see you and Mum this Christmas if all goes as planned...I am sorry for what I did to you..._

Lifting his head slightly, he took a moment to collect his thoughts. Nights spent reading such letters were always laced with melancholic whisperings of sadness and deep regret. Had he known about her sooner, he would have done something about her pain. He would have helped her. He would have carried her to safety and kept her cocooned in his warmth and protection, but...that chance was never granted to him. He had been betrayed by the very one whom he had thought would bare her soul to him, one that he had thought valued truth over lies- _Felicia._

Had he known, had she told him, he would have given up everything to enter into the gifted position of protector, husband, and dare he say it...father.

 _She is mine. She was always mine. Hidden in plain sight, dangled carelessly for me to see. How stupid could I have been?_

Crumpling the letter within his hands, he fell to the floor as pure rage overtook him; a cry of despair escaping from his lips. "My Lord, please, take this from me."

To be continued...


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own Father Brown Mysteries for it belongs to BBC and G.K. Chesterton.

Thank you to Christian Queen of Egypt and lenokiie for your continued support of this story.

Him

He watched solemnly from the window of Mrs. McCarthy's room as a nurse helped a newly released patient into the passenger's side of a waiting car, holding the door steady then closing it gently. Stepping back up onto the curb, she waved until nothing more could be seen of her former charge before retreating back into the building.

The car had long vanished from sight, but he still couldn't relinquish his gaze from the now empty path that led from the hospital entrance to the place where it had exited onto the main road. _I should have gone to see her one last time before she was released. I just couldn't. I can't face her now and I'm not sure that I'll ever be able to...not after what she's done._ Mulling over these thoughts, he knew that he, himself, should be able to show grace and compassion in any given situation due to his profession, but...today, however, was not one of those days.

He would have allowed himself to sink further into those thoughts if a soft rustling hadn't caught his ear. Turning from the window, he called out to the woman sitting in the bed not two feet from him. "Ah, Mrs. McCarthy-you're up." His dearest friend had just surfaced from a coma two days ago; awake, but still slow in her speech and movements.

"Yes, but I'm going to need your..your help Father..," she reached out for his proffered hand, but missed it entirely and almost ended up on the floor head first. "Mrs. McCarthy!" Had he not been there to catch her, she would have most definitely been seriously injured-even more so than she already was. He helped sit upright on the bed again, a stern look of warning directed her way.

"I know what I'm doing!" she spat, waving his hand away as she sat up against the pillows. Sighing, he rubbed his eyes; already her frustrating, bull-headed nature was starting to test his patience.

"Do one thing for me Mrs. McCarthy...wait for help before you start getting up and out of this bed. Please?" He was worried about her and she knew it and she didn't like it. Not. One. Bit.

"Fine Father. I'm just trying to get myself out here as quickly as possible." No doubt that was the goal as far as she was concerned and nothing, not even her own limitations were going to throw a wrench in that plan. He imagined her dragging herself out of the hospital by her own two arms if they informed her that that they were going to keep her here for any lengthy amount of time. _Lord, if they know what's good for them they will release her soon. You know how she can be with people who are trying to help her._

"Not to mention, the food here is horrendous. I'm going to starve." That statement alone caused him to stare at her like she'd grown two heads. "They're only trying to nourish you back to health and besides this is not a four-star hotel. It's a hospital."

"My point exactly. As much as they charge for their services here, one would think that the price would warrant tastier options," she folded her arms over her chest; a petulant child indeed. "It tastes like cardboard," she finished proudly.

"Look it's not..I don't know..forget it." Surrendering, he situated himself next to her bed in a rather uncomfortable chair and waited for her to settle down.

"It's not necessary for you to be here day and night. I can handle it or..they can handle it. It's their job to take care of me, while I'm here. You, go home." He eyed her as she fussed with the blankets, trying helplessly to get them all straightened out-just like they should be.

"You want my hel..." He would have finished his sentence, but the look she gave told him to do otherwise. "Got it. That's a no."

"Father, have you seen Lady Felicia?" He thanked God that she was still fumbling with those sheets because he was sure his countenance would have given away a completely different answer other than, "Yes."

"Yes? Yes-when? Elaborate Father." _Why can't you just be satifised with "Yes"._

"Two weeks ago," how much should he tell, "She was fine. Healing up quite nicely."

"Well, aren't you a pile of words today. What did she say?" _I don't want to talk about her. The very thought of her causes me to sin._

Taking in a deep breath, "She apologized profusely for putting you in your current situation and that if she had it to do all over again, she would have chosen differently."

"Oh..." He could tell the words meant a great deal to her mental health. He thought perhaps that maybe she hadn't even expected an apology, much less regret. _Regret. How I regret you._

"What's the matter?" She had noticed the slip. "Why do you look so lost sometimes Father? It's like you're not even here with us anymore."

Patting her hand, he spoke firmly, "Nothing for you to worry about Mrs. McCarthy. I'll see you tomorrow around lunch." Pulling the covers up to her chin, he gave her a wink before adding, "Get some rest."

"Will do Father," nodding slowly, concern never leaving her eyes.

Making his way out of the hospital doors, he felt his chest constrict. Breathing was becoming way more difficult these days. Picking up his bike, he walked briskly to the same path that he had laid his eyes upon earlier that day. Gripping the handlebars tightly, he jumped onto the seat and sped away-to where, he did not know.

(Montague Mansion)

The care ride back to the house had been a quiet one to put it mildly. She hadn't expected Monty to be chatty, but at the least she thought that he might have inquired about the status of her health; he did neither. She remembered stealing glances out of the corner of her eye as they rode in tense silence; his stare never waivered from the road. What had she done that would cause such an adverse reaction? She could think of nothing.

Minutes later, she was awakened to the slamming of the front door and realized much to her horror that he had fled to the confines of the house, leaving her alone in the car. _Great. And I chose him? Good job Felicia!_

With determination in her bones, she shoved the door open with as much force as she could muster-it was not nearly enough. She had only a second to fall back into the seat; her good hand acting as a protective shield over her injured arm. "Ahh,...that hurts." Shutting her eyes tightly in response to the pain, she allowed a small whimper to escape from her lips. What was she going to do? Was she to wait until her husband took notice that she was missing in action? Surely, he would come out and help, but then again he hadn't tried to help the first time. It was useless; she had just traded one prison for another.

(Kembleford)

Father Brown scurried past evening walkers along the streets of Kembleford, narrowly missing a few as he allowed his mind to wander around in blackness. With the setting of the sun, he could feel the heat of the day fading into the coolness of night-a welcoming warmth spread out from his chest at the thought of riding in the cover of darkness. No one would be out to ask any questions, no pleasentries, nothing-just pure silence to ease his screaming thoughts. Soon to be bathed within the secretive embrace of night, he continued on his journey to nowhere.

(Montague Mansion)

It was a quarter past nine according to her watch and she had still not seen nor heard any signs of life within the mansion. All rooms remained dark, which could only mean one thing-her twit of a husband had barricaded himself inside the safety of his own study with a bottle of whatever spirit was strong enough to drown his demons this time.

"What am I going to do?" Oh how many times, she'd asked herself that same question during the last three hours she'd been trapped inside that tomb of a car. She thought about turning the handle with her good hand and then kicking the door open the rest of the way, but how was one supposed to do that in a lady-like manner without showing the world her delicates; after all, she was in a skirt.

 _I can't take this pain much longer. Lord, please help me._ That's when she heard it-the unmistakable sound of gravel being crushed underneath rubber. Whipping her head around, she found him staring at her through the window; his bike discarded over by the stone bench.

Finding her wide-eyed at his sudden appearance didn't stop him from inquiring about her current situation. "What are you doing? Where's your husband?" He tried his best to be cordial and peaceful; he felt anything but...

Rolling down her window, she leaned out slightly, "Nothing. Just thinking." He sensed she was still wary of him; understandably so since the last time that they had spoken, all had ended in a blowout. He found himself taking some joy in the notion that he hadn't lost his hold on her after all these years-a trifle for some, but for him it was gold. She still viewed him as an emotional force, one strong enough to shake her world apart.

"Really? I bet...", he paused and looked around for effect, "I bet that your husband left you out here. Am I right?" She withdrew from the window, but did not roll it back up. "No, Father Brown, he did not leave me out here. I am merely watching the sun set. It is quite beautiful this evening."

He dug deeper. "You can watch the sun set from the bench over there. You don't need to sit in the car to do that..I remembered that one fun fact from so long ago!"

She came back at him through the window, her hair blowing in her face as she spoke, "Well, Mr. Brown! Since you seem to remember so much from the past, then you must recall that it was I who used to love watching the stars from the front seat of my car on clear nights-with you!"

This was not going to end well. He could feel it. "Oh, yes! Silly me, how could I dare forget such an important pastime of yours?! Sort of on the same level as you FORGETTING to tell me about our daughter!" She slapped him then...and all fell quiet.

"You...you know I couldn't tell you. What would you have done? Dropped everything and married me? Left the priesthood? Can you honestly tell me that you would have given up everything for her, for me, for us?" She could barely get out the words; her sobs were too violent for coherent speech.

"You never gave me the chance to show you otherwise," he answered through gritted teeth. "I was left out of the equation from the start; ignored and considered unimportant, though I'm her father. I'm her father..." Choked by his own sadness, he felt the tears begin to fall.

"I'm sorry." He wanted to leave her there. He really did, as nothing pleased him more in this moment than the idea of her suffering until morning all alone-and in pain. "Is that all you can say? After all these years? That's it?"

She was lost. He could see it in her eyes. She didn't know what to tell him. Could her words heal him anyhow or would they just keep tearing away at his soul like an open wound? His anger calmed into waves of irritation as he opened the door and held out his hand to her. "Whatever your story is, you're not staying in this car tonight. You need to be in bed." Still shaking from her earlier outburst, she held onto him as he lifted her out of her seat and placed her onto solid ground, still mindful to keep her wrapped tightly within the crook of his arm. It was an odd, but familiar feeling; one that had been abandoned long ago.

"Watch your step." She walked slowly up the front staircase, aided by his hands on either side of her body in case she fell backwards.

"Well, here we are," she stated quietly, aware that his arms had left her person. She turned to thank him for his help, but instead found him descending the stairs. "Father Brown? John?!" Too much. Too soon.

He stopped mid-strike; he was not pleased with her use of his Christian name. "Goodnight my lady." It was forced. She knew that she had lost that privilege many years ago, but it never hurt to test the waters every now and then.

"Goodnight," she murmured.

"Well, there you are. I figured you for dead." The words of her husband echoed from the doorway. "We need to talk or rather YOU need to talk."

To be continued...


	6. Deliverance

I do not own Father Brown Mysteries for it belongs to BBC and G.K. Chesterton.

Much thanks given to christianqueenofegypt and lenokiie for their support. It is greatly appreciated.

Deliverance

 _"Well, there you are. I figured you for dead."_

Brown hadn't travelled very far before the all too familiar sound of a man's angry voice sent echoes through the still night air.

Stopping, he focused in on the conversation. _"YOU need to talk!"_

Shaking his head as if fighting off some otherworldly desire to rescue her, he hung his head low as he whisphered, "She's not my concern anymore."

Preparing himself for departure, he began to retrieve his bike from the gravel-laden ground.

 _"About what..ouch! You're hurting me! Stop!"_

Lamenting, "She chose Monty," he began to raise the bike and set it onto its two tires.

 _"Get in here!"_

Nodding with certainty, "I promised myself that I would never come between a man and his wife," he fiddled with the task of straightening out his trusty old friend, placing both hands on the handlebars.

 _"No!"_

A finality masking his features, "It's her fault for lying. For keeping me in the dark all these years," he mounted the bike as a foot was placed on the ground for balance.

 _"I will drag you if necessary."_

Exhaling for effect, "She expects to be saved from the consequences of her sin," the other foot now rested on the pedal, preparing for takeoff.

 _"No..Monty! Stop!"_

Assuredness evident in his statement, "She is beyond the authority of my reach," he pushed on the pedal as the bike started its slow journey down the driveway.

 _"No! Ugh!"_

Alarmed, his head flew back as he applied the brakes,"What was that?"

Ceasing all movement, he found himself shaking, sweat pouring out from the depths of his core.

The next voice he heard was not that of his own, but of the One that he had ignored for far too long in regards to the current situation.

 _You ask for My help and yet you deny help? Do not bury your own guilt in vile hypocrisy and selfish anger. Another is in need. Now go!_

"Yes, yes, of course," the bike clattered once again to the ground below as John bolted towards the front door of the mansion.

"Forgive me Lord. Please forgive me."

Fumbling up the stairs of the porch, he noticed two things: one, Felicia was nowhere to be seen and two, all the lights were out in the house.

"Oh, please don't let me be too late Lord. Please, spare her."

Pleading with his Father above, his breath quickened as he tried every window, door, nook, and cranny, trying desperately to find a way into the darkened house. Just his luck; all were locked.

(Monty's Study)

She came to in a chair, and not the fluffy cushion kind, but rather the unforgiving hard wooden type that caused your bottom to go numb after several minutes if no movement occurred.

"Monty.."

"You're fine. Just an accident. Nothing more."

Nothing more? By the feel of her head, the damage caused by this unfortunate event had ignited a headache-and was that blood trickling down her face?

"Monty, something's wrong? I'm hurt and I..I need to go to the hospital," panicking now, she realized with one swipe of her hand that the caught liquid on her fingertips was indeed blood.

Laughing without remorse at her obvious suffering, he kept his eyes locked onto her form, shook his head and pointed coldly to the seat, "No, no, no...no, you will stay right there until I see fit to let you out of this house."

"Monty, whatever it is you want, I'll give it to you. Just let me get to a hospital."

"Very well." After much consideration, he launched his first line of questioning, "You will tell me a few things about a personal issue that I thought we had taken care of long ago."

Scared out her wits, her mind raced with endless possibilities: missing money, bills not paid, something she said off hand to one of her friends that got back to him-gossip? No, something more important, like correspondence from old flames, perhaps letters...Letters!

He smiled, recognizing the look of understanding on her face. "What day is it?"

"It's the twenty-first darling. A Wednesday. Why? Forget something?" Circling her chair, he planted himself behind her and produced a white envelope postmarked for the sixteenth and held it out within her line of vision just slightly out of reach, the writing being illuminated by the fire's light.

"No, damnit!" Squeezing her eyes shut in despair, she began to cry. How could she have been so stupid?

"I never meant for you to see that. I was going to request that Father Brown come and pick it up for me..."

"Father Brown?"

"Yes, you see he gets letters too..on the same days that I do..." her words trailed off. She had done it now.

A look of utter disgust fell across Monty's face; a warning before the storm.

"Father Brown. You mean to tell me that you would have sought him out and somehow convinced him to participate in your cover-up crusade so that you could keep the conspiracy going? A man who despises you? Is that right? Do I have that part of the story correct!"

Dodging an empty shot glass as it flew across the room, she recoiled in horror as he grabbed both her shoulders, "You know what a fool that makes me out to be? Do you? Answer me!"

Shaking with fear, she whispered, "I..I.."

"What, you're sorry? Is that it? Because you've been sorry for the past twenty years of our marriage. It's been nothing, but a sham; one sorry after another. And I get tired of hearing it!"

"I...Please let me explain..."

"Let you explain, oh right. Let you explain away the lies that you so meticulously created and cared for all of these years so that you could continue living your life. You do realize that this girl that you call your "daughter", but don't really see.."

Bouncing out of her chair, she set him straight, "I do see her! I see her every waking moment that I can find. You don't know anything about our relationship. She writes to me and I to her. Just because she was raised by other people doesn't make me any less her mother."

Chuckling out of spite, Monty bit back, "Oh, you're so delusional my poor baby. In case you've forgotten, let me recap it for you: you got pregnant by a priest, didn't have the guts to tell him about it, allowed your mother to give away your child, and then married me anyway because in all honesty, who would have had you otherwise?"

"You bastard!" Jumping at him with both hands lunging for his throat, he caught her just in time to shove her back down roughly into her seat.

"Sit down!" She'd never in her life seen him so twisted and hell-bent on making her miserable. Sure, they'd had their squabbles, but her actions had triggered a whole new level of hate.

"Lets get one thing clear, you are not her mother. You never have been and you never will be. You are a selfish little socialite that wants nothing more than to have attachments that better your social standing and you know it. Because, lets face it, if that wasn't the case, you would have be seen out already in this glorious world that you so love to serve wholeheartedly with your daughter on your arm, broken and all. You're afraid of what people would say."

Staring in disbelief, she sank further into her chair, dejected and alone.

"You didn't fight for her when she was born and you're not going to fight for her now. You don't have it in you to be that selfless and the reality is this whole thing could have been avoided if you had just told him in the first place. You know that he would have done everything in his power to keep you and your daughter by his side, but instead, you alienated him. Out of fear, you damaged the one person who ever truly loved you without boundaries."

"Please, stop. Please.."

Momentarily taking a rest from his diatribe, Monty relented, as he allowed himself to stare absently into the fire, his anger calming slightly, "You didn't have to marry me you know. You could have chosen a different path."

"Oh Monty..."

"Don't oh Monty me. Anything you say now will only cause me further pain and embarrassment. Besides, I thought your mother and I had an understanding. She would spirit your daughter away to a far-off land and I would not rescind my offer of marriage."

"I can't speak for my mother's motivation for keeping her here right under our noses, but I do know now that I should have told you about my discovery of her that night. And I should have told..," she continued with hesitation, "...John...about her existence in the first place long ago. I owed him that much."

Scoffing, "You owe him a lifetime's worth of restitution. Am I to assume that he found out that same night as well?"

"Yes, we both did."

"Of course, everyone knew, but me and everyone continued to know, but me for a year."

Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, she wiped another drop of blood away from her eyes, "I never knew she existed until a year ago Monty, I swear."

Raising his head from the crook of his arm, "You really had no idea she was going to give her to the Galloways did you? Well, your mother sure has a unique sense of humor; that or she wanted you to suffer."

Pierced by this truth, Felicia visibly shuddered.

"Regardless of certain details being ignored, she did as she was told and in the end saved me from a future of ridicule and you from, well, attaining scarlet letter status."

The hurt registering on her face did not dampen his mood; she would suffer tonight.

Placing a hand on her cheek, "She did love you, it's just that you made it nearly impossible to secure a husband. No one wants a loose woman as a wife."

She highly doubted she could stomach anymore of his observations, but what other choice did she have; he was relentless.

"Also, to be fair, I knew that I didn't want any complications on my part when the time comes to bequeath all my assets to another. Surely you didn't think that I would ever have wanted my money and estate falling into the hands of a whore's illegitimate daughter?"

"How dare you!" Reaching out towards him, she grappled with the fabric on his jacket and tried to pull the fabric around this throat, but he as too strong.

"Enough!" Flinging her off the chair, her body landed with a thud onto the floor.

Crying silently, she prayed. Had she made mistakes? Yes. Had she lied and caused a chaotic mess of things? Most definitely. Was she selfish and unfeeling at times? Absolutely. But, was she beyond saving? Never.

"Dear God, please help me. I need You, oh how I desperately need you now. Please help. Please come. Please..."

(Outside Montague Mansion)

Perplexed by the predicament that had been laid before him, Father Brown scoured through the bushes again, tried all windows again, and even attempted to climb up the side of the house-again.

Casting his eyes up into the night sky, he asked helplessly, "Father, I need You. Help me find a way in."

 _Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you._

"What?" Scratching his head in wonder, he failed sometimes to pick up on the obvious.

 _Knock and the door will be opened to you._

"Knock?" Frustrated, he anxiously awaited the next response.

 _KNOCK and the door will be opened to you._

"Fine, yes." Shrugging his shoulders, he made a beeline to the door and gave hefty knock upon its smooth painted surface.

 _Knock again._

"Still?"

 _Keep knocking._

Accepting that one must have faith in times of doubt, Father Brown began his assault upon the door that stood between him and Felicia.

(Monty's Study)

"What is that banging sound?" Opening the door to his study, Monty peered out into the dimly lit hallway.

Felicia had managed so far to keep herself upright, but the bleeding from her head wound had yet to cease, causing her to feel faint.

"Monty, I don't think I'm okay..."

"Shhh. You will stay here."

(Outside Montague Mansion)

Keeping up with the command of knocking incessantly, Brown found it strangely cathartic to pound his fist into the sound material in front of him. He enjoyed the activity so much that when the door opened swiftly revealing a red-eyed disaster, he almost yelped out in surprise.

"Mr. Montague?" Shocked into silence, Father Brown was forced to chug down the appearance of rather ghastly-looking Monty.

"Oh, it's you. I should have known you'd show up sooner or later, though I prefer the later."

Taking a step back, Father Brown pushed the issue, "I need to see Mrs. Montague right away."

"Hah! You mean Felicia. Don't play coy with me priest. I've known about you and her for a very, very long time."

"Our affair ended long ago...before you two were married."

Clearly bored by the conversation, Monty began to close the door only to be stopped by the jamming of the priest's foot within the doorway.

"I said I need to see Mrs. Montague and I am not leaving here until I do."

"No."

"Yes," Brown hissed.

"John?" A sluggish voice called out from beyond the darkness of the living room.

"What are you-"

"Felicia!" Barging the rest of the way in, Father Brown easily pushed Monty aside as he ran towards her.

Falling into his arms out of exhaustion, Brown kept her cradled against his body as he proceeded to examine her wound. Fingertips traced the red lines down from her side of her head to her chin; her fading eyes meeting with his in a plea for protection.

"What have you done?"

"Don't look at me. It was just an accident. She's the one who fell!"

Unexpected feelings of rage surged through his body and without notice, Brown had Monty pinned up against the wall. "What have you done to her you coward?! You monster!"

"Nothing-ow!"

One punch to the mouth.

"You should be thanking me for my-ugh!"

Another punch to the stomach and Monty was gasping for air, "John stop!"

"I will not allow him to to do these things to you!"

Another fist flew into Monty's nose, effectively breaking it, which caused him to cry out in agony.

"John, no," staggering her way over to him, she latched onto his arm for support, "It really was just an accident like he said. I slipped and hit my head on the corner of that side table over there. Trust me, he's telling the truth."

Releasing his grip, Brown buried his head in his hands as Monty made his way over to the couch.

"Get out...the both of you."

"But Monty.."

"Get out before I change my mind."

Surveying Monty from a distance, Felicia noted his blood stained shirt and the newly formed bruising around his nose; there would be hell to pay.

Pointing at both Brown and Felicia, "You will pay for this-one way or another. I will not forget and I will not stop until I have ruined your little lives, just like you've ruined mine. Mark my words."

Following orders, Father Brown lifted Felicia into his arms and exited the house.

To be continued...


End file.
